


Kiss Me Like It's Do Or Die

by SomethingWithSteve



Series: Language, Steve [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingWithSteve/pseuds/SomethingWithSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shit.”</p><p>Of course that’s the first word to leave his mouth when he realizes it. Stark just gives a disinterested remark of “Language” from where he’s sitting at his lab, soldering tools sparking as he repairs Bucky’s arm. Bucky, who is currently sitting silently (after hours of grumbling and bemoaning) at Stark’s side, glances up, an eyebrow arching as he gives Steve an expectant look.</p><p>Steve has no words for his friend, because how is he supposed to explain to him that he just realized he’s in love with him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Like It's Do Or Die

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god what the fuck is writing
> 
> Apologies in advance; it's been YEARS since I've written fanfiction so I'm kinda rusty. I also suck at being serious about anything so uh have fun with that shit. This is also un-beta'd (or whatever the term is) so if there's typos, oops?
> 
> I also have no idea how to AO3? This is the first thing I've ever posted here so I'm like "WHAT'S THIS DO, WHAT'S THAT DO, OH MY GOD TAGS" 
> 
> And yes, the title is from a Jason Derulo song. Because I'm shameless. And awful. And the song it comes from is actually cute and really fitting bye
> 
> Hopefully y'all enjoy this shit, though!
> 
> Hit me up on Tumblr with suggestions and shit - http://justsavethelastdance.tumblr.com

“Shit.”

Of course that’s the first word to leave his mouth when he realizes it. Stark just gives a disinterested remark of _“Language”_ from where he’s sitting at his lab, soldering tools sparking as he repairs Bucky’s arm. Bucky, who is currently sitting silently (after hours of grumbling and bemoaning) at Stark’s side, glances up, an eyebrow arching as he gives Steve an expectant look.

Steve has no words for his friend, because how is he supposed to explain to him that he just realized he’s in love with him?

He knows his mouth is moving but no sound is coming out as his brain racing to catch up and kick back into gear. He can feel the blush trickling over his face, warm and obvious, and Bucky will _see_ it and _know_ if he stays here any longer. Jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, he stumbles over his words, finally forcing out, “I left a… I forgot something back there. I’ll be right back.”

Stark doesn’t comment – he just waves his hand noncommittally – and Bucky just narrows his eyes slightly, but as Steve rushes to leave the room, his shoulder collides with Natasha’s as she steps into the room. One look from her, and he _knows_ that she knows. She’ll find him, one way or another, and inevitably he’ll say something wrong – or say nothing at all – and she’ll discover the truth.

That’s why he’s not surprised when she corners him later, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen as he works on fixing dinner. He can feel her eyes boring into his back, and he rather pointedly ignores her until it becomes too much to handle. He glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he snaps out, _“What?”_

“What’s up with you and Barnes?”

Steve’s jaw clenches as he turns back to the peppers he was cutting. There’s nothing _up_ with them. Bucky has been back for close to half a year now, and his recovery has made leaps and bounds. It’s clear that he’ll never be the same person again – but that’s okay because Steve’s not the same man who froze in the ice all those years ago either. Bucky still has bad days – he still tenses when people approach him too fast, or someone catches him offguard, and he still has nightmares and flashbacks – but on the good days, he’s just close enough to the Bucky that Steve remembers. He laughs with the rest of them, makes the same old lame jokes, and still tries to take care of him.

Maybe it was the distance that made him realize what he wanted all along. Bucky was his best friend, and he adored him, but now he sees that it was more than that. How could he have been so stupid not to realize? Sure, he’d always known that Bucky was attractive, but it hadn’t clicked until now that he was attracted _to_ him. Not until he was sitting in that stupid chair Stark gave him, in that stupid tank top that he’d stolen from Steve’s drawer, with his stupid hair tied up in that messy bun…

“Nothing” is the answer he finally gives to the spy. He knows she doesn’t buy it. He doesn’t need to see her to know that she’s tilting her head, red hair billowing over her shoulder as green eyes scrutinize him carefully. Her expression when she’s like this isn’t one he likes, because she’s looking at him less like a human being and more like a target, a mission.

He’s seen that look before, in Bucky’s eyes, and he hates it.

Steve’s shoulders hunch as she crosses the room to stand beside him. She could do it in silence if she wanted to, but she doesn’t, and something in that irritates him. Or maybe he’s just irritated at himself. He’s not sure, but when he glances over, and sees _understanding_ in her eyes, he pauses, just slightly.

“How long?”

Leave it to Natasha to get it without him needing to say a word. His shoulders slump in defeat as he looks away, his gaze zeroing in on the peppers he’s rather viciously cut up. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly, the words surprisingly truthful despite his sudden urge to lie. He expects… well, he’s not sure what he expects, but it isn’t for her to rest her hand on his arm, a strange soothing gesture.

“I know what it’s like.” Steve snorts at that, shaking his head softly. How can she? But she keeps talking, a sad smile curving up the corners of her lips. “Clint… well. He was already with Laura when I was recruited to S.H.I.E.L.D. I never really stood a chance, did I?”

Oh. So maybe she does know a thing or two about this situation, whatever it is. The look Steve gives her is apologetic, and she rolls her eyes as she swats at his arm. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy. It’s fine. I moved on. At least _you_ actually have a shot with your unrequited love story.”

The words make him cringe slightly, and he can’t help but retort, “Bucky’s not into guys.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle with laughter as she shakes her head softly. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you, Rogers?”

~*~*~*~

A month and a half passes, and somehow, Steve manages to deal. It’s weird and hard, but every time he feels the tightening in his chest, he pushes it down deep, stowing it away for private moments. Maybe he isn’t acting as normal as he thought, though; Bucky keeps giving him looks like his hair suddenly turned the same colors as his shield. Steve doesn’t comment on it, though, and the peace settles back into place, only occasionally disturbed by work or bad days.

It’s July 4th before he realizes it, and he honestly doesn’t even remember the date. He comes back from his usual morning run and finds himself showered in confetti and glitter as he walks back in the door. Everyone is there, including Bucky – though he looks decidedly uncomfortable with so many people around and seems to be sticking to the edges of the room. Everyone takes turns wishing him a happy birthday, and of course there’s an onslaught of “old man” jokes to be had. He rolls his eyes at every single one, but it’s all in good fun, so he doesn’t object.

The day progresses nicely. Clint arrives closer to lunchtime with burgers and hotdogs, and he and Stark set to cooking them on what the genius calls a “more efficient” grill. Clint just complains a lot and eventually turns off most of it, though not before accidentally creating some pretty impressive fireballs. Around evening, Thor drops by with Asgardian mead in tow, and the group that now remains – the old team, Sam, Maria, and Bucky – decide to see who can drink the most. It all boils down to the Asgardian or the super soldiers, and by the time the mead runs out, Steve thinks he’s actually a little drunk. It’s a glorious feeling, one he hasn’t felt in _ages_. Warmth tingles under his skin as he lounges in his chair, a lopsided smile settled on his face as he watches his friends bicker and banter. It’s not anything like the Howling Commandos, but it’s good too.

Inevitably, a very drunk Stark suggests they play Truth or Dare. He changes the rules, naturally, so that _everyone_ has to answer the questions asked. And it was all fine up until the point where it’s Tony’s turn to pick, and he makes it awkward.

“When was the last time you had sex?”

It’s an obvious trap; he can tell from the way Stark grins at him and Bucky. One by one, everyone either answers or opts for a dare. Bucky cops out with “I don’t remember”, and they all let it slide because really, his memory isn’t the best and who can really dispute if he’s telling the truth or not? Eventually, though, it’s his turn, and all eyes fall on Steve.

He shifts uncomfortably before shrugging his shoulders lightly. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally opts to say, but before they can move on, Stark balks.

“Oh come _on_ , Rogers! Don’t tell me you haven’t gotten laid since coming back? I mean, c’mon, _look_ at you! There’s probably girls lining up for miles to tap that.”

Steve’s gaze flickers around the group, pausing briefly on Bucky. He looks almost… annoyed? But like he was trying to hide it at the same time. He finally tears his gaze away, focusing instead on Stark and the outright challenge he had issued. “I’m sure they are,” he comments slowly (and Bucky’s jaw twitches almost unperceivably as he says that). “But I haven’t _gotten laid_ since coming back. I haven’t ever, actually.”

There’s a moment of silence at that realization, and a moment after he says it, he regrets letting the words leave his mouth. His fears are realized as most of the group starts talking all at once, their voices rising over each other in a clamor to be heard. Over Thor’s booming laugh and Stark’s shrieking of _“HOW”_ , he notices only two things. One, that Natasha is smirking like she won a damn prize, and two, that Bucky is staring at him with that piercing gaze he gets from time to time. It’s not quite the same as normal, though. There’s something off in his eyes; normally when he looks like this, his eyes go dead, devoid of emotion, but there’s something there now. A sparkle of humor, maybe?

He’s staring at Steve like he’s a piece of meat, and it makes him want to squirm.

Finally, the group calms enough for the questions to become organized. Steve honestly doesn’t understand why _not_ having sex is such a big deal. He doesn’t see the appeal in just going out and getting laid. He was raised to treat a woman better than that, and even all the girls that Bucky had tried to set him up with had ended with him walking them home rather than taking them back to his place. It didn’t help that he’d been an asthmatic for thirty years, and with how sick he had always been, sometimes sex wasn’t an option. And then after the serum… He’d been waiting for the right partner.

Eventually, the group moved on, through the revelation that Steve was a virgin was still hanging in the air around him. After a while he excused himself, slipping outside to the roof of the facility to watch the night sky. One thing he had always enjoyed about his birthday was the fireworks. He never had to pay to see a good show, and this year was no different.

“You lied to me, Rogers.”

Steve flinched as Bucky’s voice reached him, and he glanced over his shoulder as his friend approached, a bottle of vodka held in one hand and two tumblers in the other. The former assassin sat beside him, and Steve couldn’t help but admire how smoothly Bucky seemed to move now. He’d always had a certain grace to him before, but it had been enhanced, cultivated.

He wasn’t supposed to like that, but he did.

“I remember, you know,” Bucky continued, pouring out a glass before holding it for him to take. “You said you went all the way with that dame I set you up with – Mary.”

Steve could only smile sheepishly at that. He had said that, hadn’t he? “We were swapping stories, and you seemed really excited about her, so I didn’t want to rain on your parade.”

Bucky snorts as he pours himself a glass, tossing it back without so much as a grimace. “Telling me it didn’t work out wouldn’t have ‘rained on my parade’, Rogers,” he retorts, voice rough from the burn of alcohol, and oh _god_ Steve’s got it bad. His best friend’s voices shouldn’t send a shiver down his spine like that, shouldn’t make his hands twitch with the urge to reach over and twine his fingers through unruly brown locks. He shouldn’t want _any_ of that, so he locks it away, his hands curling tighter around the glass as he stares up at the night sky, humming an affirmative to Bucky.

They sit like that for a while, drinking in comfortable silence, and maybe this stuff is stronger than he thought, because he definitely feels looser, and at some point, he ends up lounging on his back, staring up at the sky with a stupid grin plastered on his face as they watch fireworks. It’s just like old times, and it’s the best present that Buc ky could have given to him.

That’s why he’s surprised when Bucky leans over him as the fireworks reach their crescendo, giving him a peck on the lips before grinning slyly. “Happy birthday, punk.”

Steve stares blankly for a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard and nods wordlessly. It’s just a joke, he tells himself, but he’s surprised to feel Bucky’s fingers tracing patterns over his chest as he stays close.

His heart is hammering loudly, and he absently hopes Bucky doesn’t notice.

“So.” Bucky looks down at him like he’s trying to be serious, but there’s a familiar glimmer in his eyes, one of mischievousness and something else that Steve can’t quite place. “I’m still a little bitter that you lied to me, but I think we can put that aside for the greater good here.”

This has got to be a dream of some sort. Steve’s tongue darts out, whetting his lips before he speaks – and he doesn’t miss the way Bucky’s eyes flicker down to follow the movement. “Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean we can’t have you becoming a 97-year-old virgin, can we?”

“My birthday was seven hours ago, Buck.”

“Well, then there’s no time to waste, is there?”

Steve wants to object, but before he can, Bucky closes the distance between them. His lips press warm against Steve’s, a firm pressure that isn’t quite as refined as he’d been expecting, but at this point he honestly doesn’t care. It’s _something_ , and he can be selfish for just one night, can’t he? He practically melts under Bucky’s touch – at least until the hand on his chest sneaks lower. When he feels a firm grip on the front of his pants, he can’t help but suck in a sharp breath – and in that moment, Bucky’s tongue snakes out, and it’s _sinful_ the things he’s doing with it. Something dangerously close to a whine grows in Steve’s throat, but he holds it back. The fog of alcohol in his mind might be encouraging him to do this, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to just _give in_ so easily.

Bucky’s shift in posture is sudden – or maybe that’s the alcohol screwing with his head again – and he’s sitting astride his hips now, rucking Steve’s shirt up over his head and twisting it so his arms are caught. A low sound of protest escapes the captain, but it becomes lost in the deep groan that whispers from between his lips as Bucky explores his skin with fingers and lips and tongue and _teeth_. He’s going to have bruises for a good few hours, but he finds that he doesn’t _care_. Hell, part of him is even disappointed that the bruises won’t last longer – a thought that has him flushing bright red as his hips cant up slightly. The heat in his veins is growing, curling deep in his gut, and his jeans are bordering on uncomfortable now. It doesn’t help that Bucky keeps rocking his own hips down, intentionally grinding on him as he maps out Steve’s chest.

He’s _teasing_ him, Steve realizes drunkenly, and he doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to egg him on or just endure. With Bucky, he never knows what sort of reaction he’ll get. He doesn’t want to risk setting him off and having to deal with this alone, so he simply clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes closed as he rides it out.

He doesn’t realize Bucky’s fiddling with his jeans until they’re already being tugged down slightly, his erection springing free from the restricting confines. A soft sigh escapes him at that – a sound that quickly turns into a filthy warble as a tongue drags along the underside of his length. _God_ it feels good, and he can’t help the absolutely pitiful sounds slipping from his tongue. He isn’t even really sure of what he’s saying, but he’s absolutely certain he sounds _wrecked_. He wants so badly to touch, to wind his fingers through Bucky’s hair and cling to him for dear life, but he’s learned over the past few months that Bucky is fairly averse to physical contact unless he’s warned, and he’d rather not find out what his reaction would be when he’s got a dick in his mouth.

So he clutches instead at his shirt where it’s bunched around his wrists, fighting desperately to keep his hips still. It takes monumental effort, but Steve has incredible self-control. He’s also pretty sure that Bucky could keep him pinned if he wanted to, though they haven’t quite tested that yet. He can feel the assassin’s grip on him, though, holding him together even as he takes him apart, and sensation explodes behind his eyes as he goes tumbling over the edge, Bucky’s name falling from his lips like a prayer.

He doesn’t realize that there were literal fireworks going off the whole time as he descends from the high of release, his chest heaving as he slowly catches his breath. It’s not like he’s never gotten off before, but he’s never had someone _help_ , not like that. With a soft groan, he extracts his hands from his shirt, propping himself up on his forearms to stare down at Bucky.

There’s an odd look in Bucky’s eyes as he watches Steve, like he’s trying to piece something together. Eventually the look is covered up, replaced with a lopsided smirk, and Steve’s stomach does flips at that. God he’s got it so bad. He doesn’t say anything, even though there’s three deadly words resting on the tip of his tongue. He just smiles back, hoping that the expression doesn’t look too strained.

If Bucky notices, he doesn’t comment. “Best birthday ever, then?” he asks nonchalantly, like he _hadn’t_ just gotten done getting him off with his mouth, and Steve has to shove that little tangent into a deep dark hole.

“It’s passable,” he finally answers, hoping his tone is joking enough. Bucky arches an eyebrow, throwing a mock punch at his arm before flopping down beside him to finish watching the fireworks.

~*~*~*~

The next day it was like nothing had happened. Steve wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a good thing or not. Part of him had been hoping that something would change, but he’d missed his chance to really say anything, and Bucky hadn’t said a word about what they’d done. He was watching Steve, though. Every time he walked into the room, he could feel cerulean eyes on him, the sensation sending prickles up his spine.

He ignored it, though, and eventually, it became bearable to be in the same room as his friend. Only two weeks had passed since The Incident, but when Steve put his mind to something, he couldn’t be stopped. It was his goal to make sure that nothing changed between him and his best friend.

It was also his goal to wean Bucky back into fighting with a team. To that end, they’d been sparring. The exercise had been going on for months now, and they’d made some headway, but the former assassin’s training was hard to shake. He still fought too violently, and he was swept up in the heat of the moment far too easily. It was problematic, but they were starting to make some headway. Training had become a daily thing. It was practically part of his routine now. Get up, get dressed, go for a morning run, and then meet Bucky in the training room once the Avengers meetings were over.

Today was a bad day, but not for Bucky. With inhumans and enhanced on the rise, it wasn’t a surprise to discover that some of them were using their gifts for less moral ends. The government’s reaction to such things was less than pleasing, and by the time Fury and Hill had finished giving their reports, Steve was in a sour mood. He shouldn’t have gone to the training room as annoyed as he was, but he couldn’t sacrifice the rest of his day because he wasn’t happy.

Bucky picks up on it the moment he walks in. There’s tension in his frame as he watches Steve, his gaze wary and alert. He hadn’t shied away, though, and they soon settled into the usual routine. Sparring is a good stress relief, and the burn of his muscles distracted him from the other problems he’s facing. He loses himself in combat, but honestly it wasn’t all that hard. Bucky is a tough opponent; he’s practically an even match for Steve now. If he isn’t focused, the former assassin might get the better of him.

The fight flows on for longer than usual, but one misstep is all it takes to end it. He falls for a feint to the side, and suddenly his legs are kicked out from under him. He hits the mat hard, the breath knocked from his lungs, and there’s suddenly a pressure on him as Bucky pins him, the metal arm braced against his throat. For a second, the pressure is too much, and Steve thinks he sees the Winter Soldier back in the gaze boring down on him, but then he lets up slightly, letting Steve breath as he smirks.

“You need to step up your game, old man.”

Steve just grunts, going lax under him as he tries to catch his breath. “You’re a year older than me, Buck. Don’t act like you’re some spry young thing.”

Bucky laughs at that – a genuine, hearty laugh that warms his insides. His eyes sparkle as he stares down at Steve, a few stray locks of hair that slipped from his messy bun brushing over the captain’s cheek as he drawls, “Then _you_ should work on not acting so old. Seriously, you’re slow as balls today. Don’t tell me you’ve got other things on your mind.”

He really does, but the sly look on Bucky’s face makes him think that he means something else entirely. Steve’s face scrunches slightly as he tries to figure out how to answer, but rational thought flies out the window as the former assassin slides a thigh between his legs – and god did he have nice thighs – to apply just the right amount of pressure to his groin.

It’s then that Steve realizes he’s half hard.

He’s absolutely _positive_ he goes red in a split second; he can feel the heat of a blush already trickling down his neck and spreading over his chest. Sometimes things like this just happened, he knew it was natural, but the shit-eating grin on Bucky’s face means that he’s not letting this go. Steve squirms, trying his best to get away, but Bucky has his arms pinned over his head, and no amount of twisting or writhing is freeing him. If anything, it’s making his situation _worse_ , and his breath catches in his throat as the urge to moan rises.

He clamps down on it, though, his jaw clenching as he stares sternly up at Bucky. “Bucky. Get off me.”

There’s definitely amusement in the former assassin’s eyes as he tilts his head, humming as he inspects Steve. “I had a different idea for what we could do. Unless that’s just a gun in your pocket, Stevie.”

Steve grits his teeth as Bucky intentionally shifts (that bastard) and rubs his thigh pointedly against the growing bulge in the tight spandex he wears. “ _Obviously_ it’s a gun. I’m not kidding, Buck. Get. Off. Me.”

“Oh is it? Well I’m good with guns. Maybe I should check it out.” And before he can speak a word of protest, Bucky has shifted, one hand slipping from where it had been gripping his wrists to trail a meandering path down his chest. It’s not until his fingers are sliding over the belt of his uniform that Steve realizes he’s reaching with his _left_ hand. A moment of panic grips him as he opens his mouth – to do what he has no idea, warn him maybe? – but the cold metal fingers are already on him, squeezing him through the thin fabric, surprisingly gentle despite the machine’s intended use.

His head thumps back against the mat as his breath escapes him in a huff that’s _almost_ – but most definitely is _not_ – a moan. Steve can hear a throaty chuckle from above him, and soon he can feel lips on his neck, nipping just above his pulse. This isn’t like before, he suddenly realizes before he gets too lost in the moment. Bucky’s _trying_ to mark him, and the stupid question of “why” flashes through his mind before he becomes sidetracked.

They’re in the middle of the fucking training room.

Someone is going to _see_.

It’s that thought that has Steve straining against Bucky’s hold, his hips squirming as he hisses out, “Bucky, stop. We’re in _public._ ”

“What, you’re _not_ a voyeurist?” he murmurs against Steve’s neck, nosing against the spot he’s been nursing for a while (and Steve’s sure there’s going to be a bruise there for a good while). “Calm down, Steve. Nobody else uses the gym till at least an hour after lunch.”

He has a fair point, but that doesn’t stop the panic from pulsing in his veins. Something about that makes this all the more intense, and he _writhes_ , both in an attempt to get free and because he simply can’t control himself anymore. This time, a moan does slip past his lips, catching on his tongue as he groans out, “ _Buck-_ ”

“Rhymes with fuck, and I’d be pleased to do just that, Steve.”

There’s a heat in Bucky’s voice that he can’t ignore, and Steve jerks, his eyes snapping up to meet the other’s gaze. He’s not kidding, and it’s that alone that has his back bowing as he comes, the air catching in his throat and keeping him mercifully silent. He feels disgustingly sticky by the time he comes back to himself, his limbs limp as he all but melts under the former assassin.

Bucky is staring at him with that strange heat in his eyes, and Steve stares back, the gears in his mind slowly clicking into place. He’s lost in blue eyes, moving without realizing it, when someone clears their throat not too far from where they’re sitting.

“If you boys are done, the rest of us were kind of looking forward to using the gym.”

Steve doesn’t need to feel the heat under his skin to know he’s gone about thirty different shades of red. Bucky just snorts, fluidly getting to his feet like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He tosses a glance in Natasha’s direction, muttering something in Russian as he slips by her out of the room. Steve can see her lips quirking in an almost-smile as he staggers to his feet, but he ignores it, trying desperately for the same calm Bucky had achieved just a few seconds before.

“Romanov,” he acknowledges before striding past her for the door, trying to hide his discomfort. If he’s lucky, he can get to his room and snag a shower before anyone ropes him into anything else. If he’s not lucky… well he really hopes he _is_.

The spy doesn’t say a word until Steve’s beside her on his path from the room. Green eyes tilt to follow him as she comments conversationally, “Still sure he’s not into guys, Rogers?”

Steve flees the room.

~*~*~*~

He’s no longer sure what his relationship with Bucky is anymore. Part of him wants to insist they’re still just friends – but friends don’t trade handjobs and heated kisses in empty rooms. He doesn’t think they’re _lovers_ though, because while he enjoys the time he spends with Bucky, he still has no idea what Bucky thinks of the whole situation. Communication is odd between them at times. There’s still a part of his friend that is very much the Winter Soldier, an asset that doesn’t need to communicate in more than expressions and actions. The old Bucky would have told him outright what he was thinking, but getting _this_ Bucky to open up takes time and effort.

It’s that lack of communication that leaves him confused about the whole situation, and he dances around the issue for months.

By now, Steve is sure that everyone knows something is going on between them. Bucky apparently enjoys marking him when they spend alone time together, and even though they both heal fast, it’s not fast enough to cover up the rather pointed hickies that are left along his throat. Steve is also pretty sure that Bucky’s been trying to test how long it takes for him to heal, because every time he leaves a mark, Steve can see him silently watching throughout the rest of the day to see when exactly it fades away.

He endures the staring and the snickering behind his back until it fades. Honestly, he doesn’t mind. It’s not something he had figured he’d be comfortable with, but soon enough, it’s just another part of life.

Bucky’s having fewer and fewer bad days too. He seems to be stabilizing, something that Steve is impossibly happy with. He’s glad to see his friend calming down and returning to some sort of stability. Things still set him off, of course, but that’s to be expected. At least he’s not returning to the Asset state every time something startles him.

Steve is still acutely aware when Bucky has bad days, though. Today is one of those day. The former assassin is unusually silent, his jaw clenched as he sits off to the side. He doesn’t isolate like he once did; he tends to stick closer to Steve on these days. The captain doesn’t mind. He likes being of some use, even if it’s just to keep Bucky calm.

In an instant, though, the calm is gone. He’s not sure why it sets him off, but it’s during the middle of fixing lunch that he’s triggered. Natasha and Sam were there to whine about something or other that Stark had done (again) and just engage in senseless banter. Nat had made a lewd comment before slapping his ass as she walked by, and in an instant, Bucky launched himself at her, metal fingers closing around her throat and squeezing.

“Bucky _stop!_ ” Steve’s moving to pull him away, his arms wrapping around the metal arm. Sam moves too, grabbing Bucky’s other arm and trying to help haul him off. Steve can feel the metal whirring under his fingers, and he can hear the crack and curse as Bucky throws his flesh elbow and catches Sam in the nose. It isn’t until he curls his arms around Bucky’s chest and pulls him bodily back that Bucky releases Natasha, his arms dropping to his sides as he goes limp in Steve’s arms. He’s still tense – Steve can feel it – and he’s still glaring daggers at the spy. Sam moves toward the redhead, glancing warily at the two super soldiers before jerking his head toward the door.

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He drags Bucky out of the room, his heart pounding in his chest as he takes them to Bucky’s room, shutting the door behind them before finally releasing him. Bucky’s eyes are cold as he glares at him, and Steve draws himself up, standing taller and holding himself less as a friend and more as a captain. As much as he hates doing this, it seems to work in helping to keep the Winter Soldier in line.

“She hurt you.”

Bucky’s voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it in ages, but that’s not what surprises Steve. It’s the fact that he’s even talking at _all_. Normally when he gets like this, he doesn’t speak until he’s addressed. The fact that he’d taken initiative should probably be a good thing, but he’ll address that after he deals with the current situation.

“Bucky.” The Soldier flinches at the name, his eyes narrowing slightly as he struggles with himself. “Natasha can’t hurt me.”

Steve watches carefully as the assassin sways slightly, his brow furrowed as he tries to drag himself out of the programming. It hurts to watch, because more often than not, he just looks lost and confused, and there’s nothing Steve can do to help.

“She touched you,” Bucky responds finally, the words slow like he’s not quite sure if they’re the right ones. He sounds less like the Soldier and more like himself, some of the roughness gone from his voice, and that intent gaze is focused on _Steve_ , boring into him like he’s waiting for an order – and Steve has no idea how he’s supposed to react to that. Had that all just been _possessiveness?_

“It was just a joke, Bucky.” The assassin’s eyes narrow, head tilting fractionally, and Steve can hardly keep his gaze from dropping away. He can’t afford that right now, and it takes all his willpower to stay where he is and not run out of the room. Eventually Bucky settles on his bed, staring vacantly off into space, and the usual pattern settles over them. Steve sits in the chair by the door, his thoughts a mess as he waits for Bucky to fully calm down.

~*~*~*~

The “dates” had started off innocently enough. They had started more as an excuse to get Bucky out and into the world, but over time, they’d definitely settled more into the realm of “things friends didn’t do together”. They hadn’t stopped going, though; hell, Natasha _encouraged_ it on the weeks they forgot. It had become practically part of the routine now – Monday night was “date night” because as Stark had so kindly mentioned, “old people go out on the nights when it’s less crowded”.

They’re out along a pier, watching the sun set behind the waves, when Bucky finally brings it up.

“So how many more dates are we going to go on before you grow a pair and make this official?”

Steve’s head snaps toward Bucky so fast he’s sure he gets whiplash. Bucky’s eyes are on him, that odd expression he’s seen countless times by now glittering in cerulean depths. He’s pretty sure he looks like a fish with the way his mouth is moving but no sound is coming out, if the way Bucky scrunches his nose before doing that scoffing huff he now knows is a laugh is any indication. The former assassin’s gaze drifts back out over the water, his expression thoughtful and distant before he speaks again. “You’re kind of oblivious, you know that?”

“You could have asked me.”

“No I couldn’t.” Bucky’s voice is harsh, and Steve grimaces slightly. It’s the voice he uses when he’s talking about the things he did as the Winter Soldier – cold, unhappy, and laden with guilt. “If I asked, you’d have said yes from guilt.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” And maybe he’s right, Steve realizes. How many times had he given Bucky something just because he’d asked? Maybe he really had given him that impression with how he’d been acting since he’d moved in.

He knows Bucky’s eyes are on him as he stares out over the water. He can feel it boring into the side of his skull, but it’s different now, more questioning than it had been in the past. A soft snort finally escapes his friend, and he feels him bump his shoulder as he grumbles, “And here I was thinking that serum gave you game too. Maybe I shoulda taught you more about asking someone out, punk.”

Steve’s lips quirk into a smile as he glanced over at him before turning to face him fully. “Maybe you should teach me now.”

“Is that _really_ how you’re doing this, Rogers?” He’s not annoyed, though. There’s amusement lingering in Bucky’s tone as he crosses his arms over his chest to face the captain, his head tipping up slightly. Steve can’t help but pause, admiring the way the light illuminated his face, brushing gently over his cheekbones and lighting the hair that’s fallen free from the messy way it’s tied back. He reaches out without thinking, catching the loose strands and brushing them out of Bucky’s face before trailing his fingertips along his jaw. He can see the way Bucky’s pulse jumps, but he doesn’t tense or pull away. It’s progress, and that’s something to be celebrated.

Steve moves slowly and with purpose, making absolutely certain that his intentions are telegraphed so Bucky knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t shy away or try to stop him; Bucky is motionless till the moment Steve captures his lips in a long, chaste kiss. It’s only then that he presses closer, his arms snaking around Steve’s shoulders to hold tight, as if someone might take this from them both.

When he finally pulls back for air, Bucky has a ridiculous grin on his face. “That works too,” he comments with a shrug, and Steve can’t help but laugh – a hearty, genuine laugh that he hasn’t had in what feels like _decades_. He lets his arms curl around Bucky’s back, reveling in the simplest of touches. It was strange how easily things had come to this. There had been no definite starting point, like some people claimed. It just _was_. Maybe it always had been. All Steve cares about is the now, though – the way this feels _right_. He presses a gentle kiss to Bucky’s forehead, ignoring the grumbling under the former assassin’s breath.

There’s one question that’s still bothering him, though, and he tilts his head slightly as he asks, “How did you figure out-”

“That you were super into me? You’re kind of obvious when you want something, Steve.”

Steve snorts in amusement even as the faint blush creeps over the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, and Natasha told me the day after you told her.”

_“Shit.”_

“Language, Rogers.”

**Author's Note:**

> HOW DO YOU END THINGS WITHOUT MAKING SHITTY JOKES
> 
> SOMEONE TELL ME PLEASE


End file.
